Left For Dead
by uryufangirl
Summary: Follow your favorite nations in their fight against zombies, Witches, and unlabeled pill bottles. Based off of the Left 4 Dead and Left 4 Dead 2 campaign stories. SOME PAIRINGS AND MINIMAL ROMANCE INVOLVED! Human names used. R&R! DISCLAIMER WITHIN. NEWEST RELEASE: NO MERCY


**Hey everyone, and welcome to a new story I'm starting! This is based on the Left4 Dead storyline, but I am putting it in the normal anime section because it doesn't involve any of the other characters from L4D, so I don't quite consider it a crossover. If you guys think it belongs in the crossover section, then please let me know and I will move it there, if it would make my readers and other story readers happy. So, I have worked on this for the last two weeks, and I am hoping to do all the Left 4 Dead and Left 4 Dead 2 campaign stories, and though not all of them will be 100% accurate, they will be very close. I know that I may use some weapons that aren't available in L4D, but I thought that it would enhance the story. I feel really bad for Matthew in this story, he's just my little punching bag. But yeah, enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA, LEFT 4 DEAD, OR ANY OTHER REFERENCES THAT MAY HAVE BEEN SNUCK IN THROUGHOUT, NO MATTER HOW AMAZING IT WOULD BE TO. **

**Special thanks to TheItchyWombat for helping me write, and thank you to my close friend LouieDean for helping me with the planning. Without you guys, this wouldn't have been possible.**

* * *

**No Mercy**

Starring:

Alfred

Arthur Kirkland

Francis Bonnefoy

Matthew Williams

"Dude! That's not cool! Come back!" Alfred yelled, waving vainly at the fleeing helicopter; it was their only way out of this hell, and it had just left them for dead. His cries were drowned out by the sound of ravenous, flesh eating zombies crowding the streets below the tall apartment building. He leaned over the railing, still thrashing his arms wildly. Suddenly, he felt his foot slip out right from under him and he yelled, preparing to fall to his death when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"You bloody git! What the hell were you thinking?" Arthur frowned, cuffing the American lightly on his shoulder. Alfred cracked a nervous smile and rubbed the back of his head. Arthur snorted and rolled his eyes in discontent. "Well, at any case, we should get moving." He walked over to a large table under a blue tarp, surveying the multiple lethal weapons laid out before him; a P220 pistol, a pump shotgun, an uzi, and a simple switchblade. He reached for the uzi, only to have it snatched up by a relatively well-manicured hand. He looked at the man- Francis Bonnefoy was his name- and scowled. "Hey! I was about to pick that up!" he fumed. Francis let out a dramatic sigh and looked at him.

"It's not safe for children to play with guns, especially something like this," he said, standing in front of the Englishman. Sure, he was about six inches taller, but they were the same age. Arthur bristled and began shouting at him that he wasn't a child, while throwing in a few choice words. He hadn't noticed Alfred walk over to the table and take the shotgun until he turned to grab just that.

"Whoa! Yo, this is like, so SICK!" Alfred laughed, firing the gun off a few times into the sky. Arthur grabbed the pistol wryly, sizing up the weak firearm. Francis let out a breathy laugh and patted Arthur on the head, causing the brit to clench his fists.

"Uhmm... h-hey... there's no more guns left..." a light voice said from behind the trio. They looked at the boy and blinked. "There's only a knife..." he muttered, picking up the switchblade.

"Uhh... who are you? And when did you get here?" Alfred asked quite frankly, walking up to the boy. "You look a lot like me... but you couldn't be my brother... could you?!" Alfred made an astonished face and glomped the boy. "ARE YOU MY LONG LOST BROTHER!? OH MY GOD! I NEVER KNEW I HAD A BROTHER!" The boy just squirmed and squeaked uncomfortably under the American's grip, trying to wriggle free. Arthur let out a frustrated sigh and pulled Alfred off of the poor creature.

"I-I'm not your brother, I d-don't think... I'm Matthew... I travelled with you guys here..." he muttered. The others looked at each other, not even realizing there was a fourth person with them. "So... now that you know I'm here... Can I have a gun?" Matthew asked, looking up at the men with big, pleading blue eyes. Alfred and Arthur looked at the boy, thinking, without any kind of homosexuality behind their thoughts, about how cute he looked right now. Francis walked over to Matthew and patted his head, flashing his porcelain teeth in a wide smile.

"Nope!" Francis said, still smiling. "We don't have any more guns! Get some explosives and we can head out!" Matthew's eyes became wide with fear, and he let out little whimpers. Alfred and Arthur looked at the frenchman incredulously. It was the truth; all they had was whatever they found on the table. Matthew was about to protest when a booming voice echoed around the city buildings.

"Attention! Please report to Mercy Hospital to be evacuated! I repeat; Please report to Mercy Hospital to be evacuated!" Arthur went over to the balcony, looking out over the city. He could see the hospital; it was quite a ways away, but he was sure they could make it.

"Come on guys, I can see the hospital!" He walked over to the close-doored stairwell that led back down into the apartments and kicked it open, sending tiny wood splinters through the air. He rushed down the stairs, Alfred close behind. Francis followed behind, wielding the uzi, a steeled look on his face. Matthew followed behind rather shakily, holding his switchblade out in front of him; not that it would do much if a zombie were to come straight at him. Zombies began appearing, little by little, charging at the four. Alfred fired a shot and hit a zombie square between the eyes, killing it instantly.

"Hey guys! A headshot means insta-kill! Just like in those awesome zombie first-person shooters I play! Damn! Those games are accurate!" He fired another shot, almost taking Francis' ear off in the process. He shouted at him and fired at another zombie that was harassing Matthew. Matthew let out a startled cry and tossed his hands in the air, unintentionally stabbing a zombie on the back of the head behind him. He jumped when his knife collided with flesh and threw his hands up again, instead letting go of the knife this time, only to have it fly towards Alfred and put a slit in his right sleeve. "Hey! Matthew! Watch where you're throwing that thing! Oh, Arthur, behind you!" he yelled, shooting another zombie a few feet from Arthur.

Matthew let out a scream as a zombie latched onto him, his gaping jaw only inches from his face. Francis aimed a shot at the zombie and it fell on top of Matthew, crushing him under his dead weight. Francis pulled the zombie off of the Canadian, helping him up before swiftly rushing into the bedroom of a random apartment. They battled their way down, through kitchens, bathrooms, living rooms and bedrooms, until they finally reached an area that seemed to be zombie-free. "Hey, dudes! There are some pills here!" Alfred called from the bathroom, walking out with a white bottle in his hand. He popped the cap open and shook a few into his palm. He dry-swallowed the pills, letting out a content sigh when some of the pain from their fight subsided. Arthur walked over to him and took the pill bottle from his hand, looking for any indication as to what the pills may be. Alfred walked back into the bathroom, hoping to find more for his companions.

"Alfred... it doesn't even say what kind of pills these are! What if it causes some weird side effe-" he was cut off by a loud thump. "Oh my God, Alfred!" He ran into the bathroom and found Alfred on the floor, a stupid smile on his face. "What the hell happened?!" Arthur yelled, trying to get Alfred to stand up. Alfred looked up at him, a hazy look in his dilated eyes. He let out a weird little giggle and rolled around on the hard tile, causing Arthur to wince. Francis and Matthew walked in behind him and stared at Alfred; the full grown man, rolling around on the floor muttering incoherent things.

"This floor... Oh my God... guys! This floor! It's... s-so awesome!" He laughed lightly, giggling insanely as he squirmed on the floor. Francis grabbed the pill bottle from Arthur and looked closely at it. He curiously pulled out one of the pills and cracked it open, smelling the inside. Arthur looked at him as he inspected the pill like a bloodhound, before Francis wrinkled his nose and threw the pill to the side.

"These aren't pain relief pills... these are ecstasy tablets! I knew the people in this apartment building were shady!" he let out a light chuckle, throwing the bottle into the trash. He looked back at Alfred, who was currently saying something about how the bathtub was "So rad, bro!" Arthur and Matthew grabbed Alfred and dragged him into the living room, lying him on the couch. "What are we going to do now, guys? Ecstasy takes a while to wear off, and we can't just sit here!" Francis asked desperately, grabbing Alfred's gun he still clutched in his hands. We wouldn't want him shooting at someone because the trigger looked "So cool, dude!" He handed the gun to Matthew, who gripped it for dear life, having never fired a gun before. He looked at the gun and anxiously pulled the trigger; the gun bounced back and hit him square in the forehead, causing the Canadian to let out a squeal of pain. He rubbed his forehead, dropping the gun. Arthur picked up the pump shotgun and handed the P220 to Matthew, who's forehead had a large gash from his right eyebrow up to his hairline.

"Here... this one might be easier," Arthur said, smiling at the boy. Matthew hesitantly took the gun and wiped the cut, blood staining his hand. The boy stumbled into the bathroom to look for a gauze while Francis and Arthur decided what they were going to do with Alfred. "We have to keep going... we'll just have to defend him until the tablets wear off," Arthur decided. Alfred reached for Arthur's gun, only to have it swiped away. "Oh hell no, you aren't getting a gun until you return to normal!" he said sternly, earning a groan from the American.

"But I neeeeeed a gun to shoot some zaaaammmbiiieeessss!" he said, drawing out his words like a drunken sailor. And what the hell was a zambie? Alfred squirmed again, falling off the couch. Arthur sighed, hoisting the American to his feet. He was stumbling around, but he could walk.

"Well... looks like we'll be babysitting on this trip. I'll have my eyes on him the whole time... Francis, you can lead the way," Arthur said, earning a nod from Francis. Matthew walked out of the bathroom, a gauze wrapped firmly around his head. They filled him in on what they were doing, and a few minutes later, they left the area and exited the apartment building, ending up in an alleyway. They walked through the alley past a bonfire, killing a few rogue zombies along the way. Soon they emerged out onto the street, where they saw a good thirty or forty zombies stumbling along. Francis rushed into a large building, the others close behind, Alfred being half-dragged along by Arthur. They passed a vending machine, finding a few more zombies in the next room over. They quickly finished off the few zombies hiding in what seemed to be the storage room. Arthur gasped, frantically scanning the room.

"Alfred's gone! Oh God, Alfred!" he yelled, looking for what could be his corpse scattered among the dead zombie carcasses. He heard a pinging noise froom the halway and stepped out, wincing at what he saw. Alfred let out a laugh of triumph, fishing out a bag of chips from the dispenser. Alfred growled and stomped over to him, grabbing his arm and pulling him further down the hall. "Don't leave me, you git! Or you'll get killed!" Alfred let out a light chuckle, opening his bag of snacks.

"Dude... I have a SERIOUS case of the munchies right now, bro-seff!" he said, inhaling the barbeque Lay's like an animal. He dropped the bag and stumbled back after the group, who was making their way further into the building. Arthur had a tight grip on his hand, and Alfred began laughing again. Arthur looked at him in confusion, a tight-lipped frown stuck on his pale face. "Dude... I get your into me, okay. I mean, who wouldn't be," he stuttered, causing the lighter blonde to frown disdainfully, "But I'm not looking for a relationship, so, like, let go of my ha-" Arthur silenced him and stopped walking. The other's looked back at the brit, who was holding his finger to his lips, signalling for them to be quiet. He heard a strange sound emanating from further down the hallway; it was a child crying. It sounded sickening and twisted, and a feeling of dread planted itself deep in the pit of his stomach. He tiptoed lightly towards the source and found a little half-naked girl rocking back and forth in front of the only door out. He turned off his flashlight and stood still, hoping it hadn't noticed them. She obviously wasn't human; her skin was far too rotten looking.

"Guys. Don't get any closer. She's not human, and I'm convinced she'll hurt us. We need to finish her off quickly, so whatever you do, don't do anything stupi-" he was cut off by rapid footsteps.

"HEY LITTLE GIRL! DON'T CRY! I'LL COME GIVE YOU A HUG!" Alfred giggled, running with open arms towards the pathetic creature. He got about two feet away from it before it let out a screech, crouching and hissing at Alfred, it's eyes crazed with bloodlust. It pounced, unexpectedly aiming at Matthew, who was huddled in the back of the group, whimpering. He let out a scream as the being's claws raked across his chest, creating a large, animal-like claw mark on his torso. "Oh noes! Why are you so angry little girl?" Alfred asked, chuckling lightly and falling on the floor again, rolling around. Arthur hissed in irritation, shooting madly at the monster, who was hacking at Matthew. Francis' gun was making a clicking noise, and he noticed he was out of ammo.

"Shit!" he yelled, running back towards the storage room to hopefully find more ammunition. Arthur cursed him for leaving and noticed his bullets were running low too. Matthew's blood-curdling screams echoed in his ears, and it terrified him. This whole time he felt not an ounce of fear, fuelled purely on adrenaline; now he was realizing that all of them may not make it out, if any of them. He heard another high-pitched scream and the "Witch"- that was the name he had given the creature- collapsed, rolling off of a bloody Matthew. Francis rushed back and let out a sigh of relief, though Matthew's body shot fear back into his veins. Francis and Arthur got down on their knees next to Matthew, who's chest looked like a bloody, fleshy mess. He wasn't losing too much blood, for the scratches hadn't been deep, but he was still in pain. Francis ripped off the left sleeve of his long-sleeved shirt to use as a bandage.

"I-It hurts! It hurts!" he screeched as the man pressed his sleeve to his chest, attempting to stifle the blood. They sat there for a few minutes before Francis remembered something. He pulled a pill bottle and dumped a few pills into his hand. He held them in front of Matthew and told him to take them. Arthur smacked the pills out of his hand and frowned.

"Are you crazy? Remember what happened with Alfred!?" he yelled, pointing at said man, who was trying to crouch and move like the witch, but fell flat on his face, laughing like a maniac. Francis rolled his eyes and shook more pills into his hand. He handed Arthur the bottle and Arthur read the label. "Pain relievers... Oh. Well you could have said that, you git!" Matthew took the pills and swallowed them, letting out a relaxed sigh as he felt the pain in his chest subside. He stood up shakily and grabbed his pistol, refilling the ammunition. Arthur and Francis dragged Alfred back to his feet, grunting at the effort of trying to right a man who was doing nothing to help himself. Finally, they walked through the open door, closing and locking it behind them. There was graffiti all over the walls, bearing messages from what appeared to be other survivors. Arthur read the writing on the walls, taking note of a few of them. There were a lot of messages, mostly out to people they thought could be alive and telling them where to meet them. There were a few warnings about different types of zombies, how one can explode and cover you in a sickly juice that attracted other zombies, labeled as a "Boomer." "Welcome to the Safehouse" was scrawled in neat letters on the far east wall, and on another wall, all of the messages were painted over by red spraypaint, reading, "GILBERT IS AWESOME." Apparently this Gilbert fellow was awesome. He sounded a lot like Alfred, who was over by a table, nibbling on the wooden corner. Francis smacked him away from the table, nagging about how he shouldn't eat tables, and that tables were beneficial to America, earning a loud whoop from the American himself.

Arthur noticed that the tables were covered in first-aid kits, weapons, and ammo. He quickly snatched up a M-16 assault rifle, not wanting what happened last time to happen again. Matthew took one of the first-aid kits and worked away at healing his chest wound, while Francis plopped down into a wooden chair, his legs aching and head pounding. "Perhaps we should rest here for awhile, non?" he asked, closing his eyes. Arthur nodded and laid down, resting his tired limbs.

"We might as well wait until the tablets wear off... You doing alright, Matthew?" he asked the caramel-haired boy. He nodded and let out a content sigh, propping himself up against the wall. "Okay... let's just rest for awhile," he muttered, already drifting off into a rather restless sleep.

Arthur woke up on the floor of the Safehouse, his gun gripped tightly in his hands. He let go of it and turned on his side, only to come face to face with Alfred, who was snoring lightly next to him, a gentle smile on his face. He jumped and stifled a shout, so as not to wake the American. Matthew was still asleep, though he had slid down the wall and was now in a ball on the floor. Francis was leaning his head back in the chair, his mouth agape and loud snores echoing in the room. He looked down at Alfred and smiled. He looked so peaceful; the ecstasy must have worn off, otherwise he would probably still be wriggling around on the floor saying he was an earthworm. Arthur looked at him carefully for the first time, and he had to say, he wasn't half bad. His face was slightly tanned, and he had little dimples at the corner of his mouth. His dirty blonde hair was messy, but it was clearly intentional. One rebellious piece of hair stuck up on the back of his head. He looked back at his face and noticed how soft his lips looked. He gulped and closed his eyes, sighing.

_Not now, God dammit. This is no time for this_, he thought, standing up and kicking Alfred's shoulder. "Get up, you lazy arse. We have to keep moving," he said, earning a groan from the American, who tried to curl up into a tight ball, thinking it would mean he would get to sleep longer. Arthur rolled his eyes and went to rouse Francis and Matthew. It took a bit more kicking, but Alfred eventually stood up and gathered a weapon and some ammunition from the table. Everyone checked that they had enough supplies, and they set out again. They opened the door leading out of the safehouse and found themselves in a subway station. Alfred decided that he should take the lead since he hadn't been pulling his weight, since the ecstasy tablets had rendered him basically useless. They passed through the security check gates, which were empty now, and went down the frozen escalators. There hadn't been many zombies so far, so there had to be a huge horde nearby. They were proven correct when they stepped into the subway terminal; dozens of zombies rushed towards them, with more speed and bloodlust than they had before.

Arthur fired a shot at a zombie, killing it with a quick shot to the head. He felt something wrap around him; he thrashed around, trying to break free of the monster's strangling grip. He felt the air drain out of his lungs, and he tried to shoot blindly behind him at what was constricting him. He had read something about it on the Safehouse walls; it was called a Smoker, and they could literally squeeze the life out of you. He saw dark spots in his line of vision, and he felt his lungs burning. Suddenly, he dropped to the floor, the constricting binds of the Smoker releasing him. He coughed and sputtered and looked up at his savior. "Dude! That was freakin' awesome! I'm pretty bad-ass, huh?" Alfred laughed, firing at another zombie to the right of him. Arthur groaned and stood up, giving him a curt nod in thanks. He heard a scream and saw a zombie clawing at Francis; it look a lot like the Witch, but it was different; male, much slower, but larger. He had read about this too; they're called "Hunters." Matthew shakily fired his P220 at the Hunter, killing it in only a few shots. Francis was breathing heavily, gasping out how grateful he was.

Suddenly, a large amount of sticky, smelly green ooze overwhelmed Matthew, knocking him to the ground. A gigantic zombie was waddling towards them, his belly plump with what could only be the strange green substance. Matthew screeched as zombies ran at him, nearly ignoring the other three men. Alfred and Francis fired at the zombies, while Arthur took out the larger zombie. He shot it clear in the stomach and the zombie exploded; literally. The green vomit sprayed out in all directions, drenching them head to toe in zombie barf. "Boomer!" he recalled the name of the plump undead; it spewed a substance than attracted zombies, so it really put a damper on things. Zombies rushed them again, creating a dense wall of bloodthirsty zombies, pressing closer on them.

"Take cover!" Alfred yelled, pulling something out of his belt. He pulled out a lighter and lit what looked like a cloth sticking out of a glass bottle.

"Wait! Alfred! Is that a Molotov!?" Arthur asked, receiving his answer when he threw the bottle into the middle of the wall of zombies in front of them, causing them to burst into flames. The zombies burned, releasing a rotten smell into the air. He heard another round of screeching behind him as another Molotov was launched at the remaining zombies. Smoke was hanging thick in the air, burning their eyes and choking them. Arthur felt a hand grasp his wrist and he was led away from the scene, out into the dark tunnels the subways would usually travel on. He opened his eyes and saw Alfred leading him along, Francis and Matthew a slight ways behind them. Arthur blushed and pulled his arm away, grasping his gun with both hands and continuing after the American. He thought he could hear a sad sigh escape Alfred's lips, but Arthur was probably still dazed from the smoke. That had to be it.

They emerged from the dark tunnel into the other side of the subway station, only to be greeted by more zombies. They charged full throttle through the station, shooting zombies left and right. Francis had acquired a nasty scratch on the left side of his stomach and Alfred had been hit by a zombie charging at him, a black and purple bruise blossoming on his upper right shoulder. Finally the reached the next Safehouse, where they could just breath for a second. Arthur took the time to read the graffiti again, while Francis went straight to napping and Alfred and Matthew played poker with a box of cards they had somehow acquired from inside one of the boxes. He found some information on what lay beyond here; someone had written that the sewers were the fastest and safest way to the Hospital, while others detested it and said to take your chances in the streets. He made the executive decision to lead them through the sewers, and continued reading some useless bullshit people had written to one another. One message simply read "Oh, really?", without any further explanation as to what he was talking about. Someone had actually responded "Yup." Arthur sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. People were definitely not very intelligent these days.

Arthur sat down next to the two almost-identical boys and watched as they played poker. Alfred kept changing the rules around according to his cards; how King, Queen, and Jacks were lower than 1's, that you got dealt three cards instead of two, and at one point he swore he thought they were playing Go-Fish. Arthur had dozed off in the middle of Alfred yelling and nagging that poor boy, and when he woke up, his head was on Alfred's lap, and he was running his hand through his hair. Alfred blinked and smiled at him. "Good morning! You were out forever!" Arthur scrambled to stand up and stood with pin-straight posture, wiping the dust from the floor off of his blood-stained white shirt. He was beet red, and he looked like a hot mess.

"W-what the hell were you doing, you arse!?" he yelled. Alfred shrugged and stood up, flipping a strand of hair from between his eyes out of his face.

"Well... you fell asleep a few hours ago, and you kept tossing and turning in your sleep... you must be a heavy sleeper, because you kept rolling around and bumping your forehead into the wall. So, I put you on my lap since watching you hurt yourself in your sleep became boring about an hour and a half into it... oh, and your forehead started bleeding," he said, coming towards Arthur again and wiping his sleeve over his forehead, smiling nonchalantly. Arthur batted his arm away, feeling an overwhelming urge to go hide in the corner of the room... if it weren't already taken by a trembling Matthew. Arthur looked at Alfred, who looked back the Canadian. "Oh, yeah. Funny story! Well... we were playing poker, see, and I said that we should make things more interesting... so I told him if he won this one hand, I would use only the switchblade he had when we first set out. Well, I lost the hand," he sighed and closed his eyes, "So, of course I wasn't going to do that. Long story short, I kinda destroyed all the guns and took a tight grip on mine, so now Matthew only has a knife again. Heh."

Arthur looked around the room, shocked when he saw little pieces of scratch metal spread in spontaneous places around the room. "How... Why... HOW THE HELL DID YOU DESTROY THE GUNS!?" Matthew turned from his corner to look at him, his eyes wide with terror.

"H-He... he went on a rampage. A-And... he destroyed them with his hands, Arthur! H-HE LITERALLY TOOK THE GUNS IN BETWEEN HIS HANDS AND CRUSHED THEM!" he squealed, tucking his face into his knees and turning back to face the wall. Arthur looked over at Alfred, frustrated. Does that mean we had only one gun? Between the four of them?

"How could you destroy our weapons! We need those to survive, you bloke! What are we going to do now? So glad you have a gun, because Francis and I will just have to carry around knives like Matthew!" Matthew let out another little cry, which was inevitably ignored. Alfred walked over to a tall shelf and reached on top, pulling down the two guns in question. He handed one to Arthur and threw the other at a sleeping Francis, hitting him in the mouth. He let out a shriek of pain but grabbed the gun, sending an alarmed shot over in Matthew's direction. It whizzed past only an inch from his ear, singeing the little curly-cue that stuck out from his head. He let out another shriek and stumbled backwards, eyeing the artillery-clad trio.

"H-Hey! I thought you destroyed all the guns!" Matthew murmured, clawing his way across the ground to Alfred's feet. Alfred smiled and struck some dumb-ass pose, holding one thumb up and winking.

"Of course not! I'm a hero, so there's no way I would let you guys go unarmed!" he proclaimed loudly. Matthew scrambled to stand up and ran around the room, looking for more unharmed guns.

"Oh, Alfred! I knew you couldn't be so cruel as to let me go unequipped after the hell I was put through last time!" Matthew said happily, searching a box next to a table with a take out menu for some Italian food joint. Alfred looked at Matthew and frowned, scratching the back of his head.

"Dude, what are you looking for? You lost the hand, so you don't get to carry a gun. I only saved Arthur's, Francis', and my own," he said matter-of-factly. Matthew turned back towards him, fear once again filling the petite boy's eyes.

"B-But... YOU lost the hand, not me!" he squealed, trying to grab the gun from Alfred's hands. Alfred stared at him, fire burning in his blue eyes. He smiled evilly, looking down at the boy. Matthew shakily let go of the gun, intimidation making him prefer to go back out to the zombies without the gun, if it meant Alfred would stop. Alfred flicked his forehead, letting out a laugh.

"That's what I thought! Well, if you guys are ready, I think we should get going!" Alfred declared, crossing the room to the exit door. He heard whispers of protest from Matthew, but opened the door nevertheless. "Come on guys! Let's go!" Alfred ran out the door, Arthur shouting from behind him that he was supposed to lead. Francis stopped at the door and looked at Matthew, who was shaking behind him, the useless switchblade held in his hand. He scanned the room and found a hockey stick in the corner. He called for the two other blondes to wait and retrieved it, handing it to Matthew. Matthew looked at him questioningly, like he had never held one before in his life. Francis sighed, bringing his palm up to his forehead.

"You're Canadian, non? This hockey stick should help you bring out your competitive nature. Now, let's go kick some zombie ass!" he laughed in his heavy accent, dashing out the door. Matthew gripped the sports equipment in his hands and rushed out after him, holding the stick upside down. Arthur looked at the boy and sighed. Once he had shown Matthew how to hold the hockey stick correctly, he led them into an empty alley, opening a manhole in the center. They were met with a disgusting scent, but jumped in anyways.

"Now, if this fellow who wrote the graffiti is correct, this path should be devoid of zombies-" he was cut off by a growl behind them, and a vile substance drenching them. He turned on his heel, only to come face to face with a Boomer. He aimed a shot at his stomach, feeling the vomit drench him further, if that was even possible. "Bloody boomer!" he yelled, hearing more groaning nearby. Of course, where there's Boomer bile, there had to be more zombies. "Stay close, guys!" he commanded, running towards the rapid-paced footsteps. They turned a corner, only to be stopped in their tracks by an entire horde. They charged at them, guns at the ready. Alfred shot a zombie who was threatening to eat Francis' arm off, while Arthur tried to rescue Matthew from a Smoker on the edge of the horde. Francis and Alfred decided to go back to back, throwing Molotovs at the never ending flow of zombies. Arthur was busy planting pipe bombs around the edges, hoping to destroy the horde on explosives alone, so as not to waste all of his bullets. Suddenly, he heard a familiar sound. It sounded like nails against a chalkboard, yet so manic; so painstaking. He looked around furiously, knowing that the Witch was nearby. After a moment of searching, he found it curled up in a ball on the outskirts of the horde; rocking back and forth, singing a maniac's lullaby. Matthew dashed out from out of the horde, weaving his way towards the creature on the ground. "Matthew! No!" But he was too late. The boy brought down his hockey stick hard, smashing it into the Witch's skull. She let out a screech and launched herself at Matthew. Arthur prepared himself to go and save him again, but instead, he swung the hockey stick and hit the monster square in the face. The Witch was smashed to the ground with a screech, and it lay there, stunned, just long enough for Matthew to begin smashing it's skull into the hard cement ground.

"YOU CAN NEVER DEFEAT THE MONTREAL MAPLE LEAFS!" he screeched, smacking the Witch like a hockey puck. He was screaming like a drunken fan in the stands, and it was beyond scary. But if it meant that the Canadian could live to play another game, then so be it. Arthur ran back into the center of the horde, zombie blood spattering his shirt at every shot he made to clear a path. He joined Francis and Alfred in their back-to-back circle, shooting at the oncoming zombies. Matthew could be heard swinging his hockey stick and screaming curse words at the zombies as he bashed in their skulls. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a Hunter dashing towards Francis. He turned to fire at it before it wounded him too badly, but before he could even poise his gun Matthew had run up behind it with God-speed and whacked it's head so hard, it's head popped like a water balloon. Blood spattered the Canadian's grey shirt, a disturbed look shining in his blue eyes. "NOT THIS TIME, SCHADILOV!" he yelled, laughter ringing in the narrow sewer pipe. Alfred winced at the Canadian's strange change in personality.

"What the hell is he talking about? Dude, Mattie, calm down!" Alfred yelled at the hockey-crazed boy. Matthew simply continued his destruction, taking out more zombies with his hockey stick than they were with their guns. In a matter of minutes, the horde had been reduced to a fleshy, bloody mess. Matthew was standing in the center, smacking at an already dead zombie for the upteenth time. He was panting heavily, fatigue making his arms fail miserably at swinging properly. He dropped the bloody, chipped hockey stick on the ground. Francis limped over to him, a large bite mark on his left leg. He helped Matthew up, dragging him over behind one of the sewer tunnels. Arthur looked over at Alfred, who had a large wound on his cheek; whether it was a bite or a scratch, he wasn't sure.

"Hey, guys. We're back here! Bring your first-aid kits... You can heal here since the zombies are gone," Francis called from back in the sewer tunnel with Matthew. Arthur lumbered over, feeling lightheaded from blood-loss. He collapsed against the wall, fishing his first-aid kit out of his backpack. Alfred sat down next to him, retrieving his first-aid pack as well. He looked over at Arthur's arm, which was bleeding rather profusely. He opened up his pack and took out the gauze, gently wrapping it around his arm. Arthur winced at the pain, but figured that things could be worse. Alfred finished it up, tying a firm knot so it wouldn't fall apart. After that was all said and done, the American leaned the back of his head against the wall, closing his bespectacled blue eyes. Matthew was slumped against the wall, panting heavily. Francis was busy trying to disinfect his leg with rubbing alcohol, biting his lower lip so he didn't cry out in pain. Arthur turned his head to look at Alfred, realizing he never cleaned his own wound.

"You git... you used your health pack on me," he muttered. Alfred cracked open an eye and shrugged. Arthur frowned and fished a bottle of water out of his backpack. He ripped off the right sleeve of his tee-shirt and shakily drizzled some of the water onto the cloth. "This may hurt a bit, okay?" he said. Alfred nodded and closed his eyes again. Arthur pressed the cold cloth the fleshwound, eliciting a soft sigh of content from the younger man.

"Thanks... I thought that I could live with the pain. I hate seeing you hurt," he said, smiling slightly. Arthur blushed, but continued to dress the wound. They sat silently for a few moments, an awkward aura hanging in the air.

"Say, Matthew," Francis said, "Before when I gave you the hockey stick, you couldn't even hold it... But when we were fighting, you were swinging it like a pro, shouting out all kinds of hockey lingo, non? How did you do that?" Matthew held his head up, his eyes without their bloodthirsty haze. He shrugged, looking over at the abandoned hockey stick.

"I... I'm n-not sure... I didn't even know what I was s-saying," he whispered, sighing deeply. "It was weird though. I-I had almost no control. I guess Canadian stereotypes are true- we are born wanting to see blood spatter on the ice." Francis let out a soft laugh and stood up, walking over to the hockey stick. He kicked it into the wall, cracking it in two. Matthew let out a cry of despair and dragged himself over to the broken sports equipment. He looked up at Francis, alarm flaring in his blue eyes. "F-Francis! I know it made me go all c-crazy, but that was my only w-weapon!" He let out a distressed sigh and planked on the ground, arms at his sides, face to the ground. Francis patted the boy's head and limped back over to where he had been sitting, settling back down and sifting through his pack for something to nibble on.

Arthur removed the cloth from Alfred's face, feeling the warm blood dripping down his wrist. He removed his last remaining white sleeve and searched his backpack for some kind of adhesive. He removed a roll of medical tape from what was left of the small medical kit. He placed the pristine strip of cloth over the wound- which he had now identified as a scratch, thankfully- and taped it up. Alfred felt at the slowly-reddening patch, his lips turning up lightly at the corners. "Thanks," he whispered, letting his hand drop to the ground. "I'm just gonna take a little nap-" he was interrupted by Arthur's fist hitting his shoulder; hard. He let out a little squeak of surprise and stumbled. Arthur stood up and grabbed his wrist, pulling him up.

"I think not! We're not even at a safehouse yet!" Alfred let out a groan but grabbed his gun. "Okay guys, let's go!" Arthur said, dashing around a corner. Alfred stumbled after him, glasses slipping slightly down his nose as he went. Francis limped as fast as he could just behind, leaving Matthew just barely keeping up, his knife held up shakily. Luckily, the Boomer had flushed out just about all the zombie's in the area; getting to the safehouse was a walk in the park. The quad slipped into the room, Alfred securing the door behind them. Matthew dashed over to the weapon's table and grabbed an AK-47, holding it protectively in his arms. Francis let out a throaty laugh and slid down into a wooden chair, on routine, and instantly began snoring. Arthur sat down and put his back against the wall, suddenly feeling extremely tired. Alfred sat down beside him, his eyes already partially closed before he even hit the floor. Soon the two of them had drifted off, leaving Matthew to sit alone. He looked over at Francis, who was sleeping serenely in the wooden chair. _He's absolutely obnoxious... But, I suppose, he's a pretty good guy._ He looked over at the duo against the wall; Arthur's head had shifted and he was lying against Alfred's shoulder, in that strange cliched way that almost never actually happens in real life.

Matthew smiled, a rare sight for the past few day's he's had. _It's so obvious that they have a thing for each other. It's strange, how people go for that kind of stuff when they know their lives could end. What's the satisfaction in that? Knowing you' could lose someone you've become so close with._ Matthew let out a sigh and unzipped the front zipper of his backpack. He sifted through the tools he stored in the front on his way out of his home and found what he was looking for. He pulled a gold oval-shaped locket out and let it sway lightly from his hand. He fumbled with the little clasp that held it closed and it opened with a little click. Inside was a picture of her; Lili, his fiancée. _Of course it was my luck that you decided to visit your brother this weekend. I'm sorry I had to stay home because of work; if I knew this was going to happen, I would have followed you anywhere. _He felt tears pinching the back of his eyes; his heart hurt, there was no doubt about that. "She's beautiful. Is she your sister?" he heard from just behind his left ear. He jumped, almost dropping the locket. Francis held the small oval pendant in his hand, examining the tiny picture within it.

"No... she's my fiancée. Our wedding date was only a week and a half away. She went to pick up her brother when all of this happened... I had to stay behind because of work," Matthew muttered, sniffing. Francis looked at him in shock. He looked at the pendant, then back at Matthew again.

"This... this beautiful girl is your... _fiancée?!_" he asked, his voice getting slightly higher towards the end of the sentence. "But- I thought you were, like, 16!" Matthew glanced at him and furrowed his brow.

"What? No, I'm 23," he muttered disdainfully. Francis shook his head and strode back to his chair, sitting down and falling asleep once more. _Well... that was weird. Why is it so hard for these people to believe that I __do__ have a beautiful __fiancée, and that I __am__ their age. It's ridiculous. _ He huffed to himself and put his locket back in his backpack. _Might as well get some sleep._ He curled up, holding the gun in his hands, his head resting on his navy-colored backpack. Soon, he drifted off, much like the others.

Alfred cracked open his eyes, heavy from sleep. His shoulder felt overly-warm; he looked next to him and saw Arthur leaning on him, his mouth open slightly in sleep. Alfred's heart sped up a bit, a strange feeling making him dizzy. Arthur's eyes cracked open, sending a shockwave through Alfred's body. He scooted away rapidly, leaving Arthur to fall sideways onto the floor. The brit let out a little squeak, hitting his head against the floor, Alfred's bomber jacket that he had thrown down last minute only providing his head minimal protection from the hard tile. Arthur groaned and held his head, his brain seemingly ricocheting around his head. "Dammit! You arse, why did you move!?" he hissed, sitting back up, still rubbing the knot on his head. Alfred blinked.

"You... you knew?" he asked, watching Arthur flick a stray piece of hair away from his face. The man nodded, standing up and walking over to the table where a bottle of pain reliever pills sat, looking enticing to Arthur. Alfred stood up and mentally slapped himself. _I'm such an idiot!_ he thought, stomping grumpily over to where his gun was perched against the wall. Francis yawned loudly, Matthew following suit. He stood up and walked over to Matthew, who was slumped down, wiping the sleep from his eyes. The Canadian looked up into Francis' eyes, who were actually serious. The Frenchman held out his hand and nodded.

"I have much respect for you," he whispered, making Matthew smile brightly. He accepted his hand and stood up, heading over to grab himself a first-aid kit. After a few more minutes of preparation, Arthur opened up the heavy door leading into the street. Mercy Hospital's double doors were only a few buildings away, and there seemed to be no zombies in sight. Perhaps this truly was a safe place. The four men crossed the street, Francis being the first to open the double doors. They walked inside the desolate-looking first floor of the hospital; the usually pristine white floors and walls of the hospital were slathered with blood, belonging to both zombie and human. Francis sneered in disgust, looking over at the reception desk.

"I hate hospitals... and doctors, and lawyers, and cops," he said, walking quietly down the hall, reading the various graffiti. From what he read, the hospital isn't as safe as the megaphone-wielder had claimed. "Perhaps the people here before us killed all of the zombies." Arthur nodded, approaching the elevator at the end of the hall. He noticed that the light was still on, so he tried to click the "Up" button. It emitted a small ding and the doors opened, revealing a relatively-clean, empty elevator. The quartet stepped in cautiously, clicking the button leading to the fourth floor. The doors closed with another ping and the elevator slowly moved up, anticipation crowding the elevator like a fog. The door opened and revealed the top floor of the hospital, which was entirely spotless. Alfred ran out of the elevator and to the end of the hallway, where a stairwell no doubt led to the roof.

"Hey, dudes! Over here!" he yelled, rushing up the stairs. The others followed behind, the hyperactive blonde in front kicking open the door. The rooftop was a huge expanse; it looked like a desolate wasteland, but the smell of rotten flesh filled the air. A small room, flat roof, open doorway, was situated in the middle of the other buildings on the rooftop. Matthew dashed towards it, anxiety fuelling him. He got into the room and found a large array of guns. A cabinet of first-aid supplies sat on the eastern wall, and a CB Radio was placed on a table with empty coffee mugs. He made for the Radio and clicked the button, yelling into the microphone.

"Help us! We're here! We're here!" The radio was static for a moment, but soon breathing could be heard through the device.

"We're coming to get you, please remain calm!" the voice called, the sound of a helicopter in the background. The team let out a cheer of relief, which soon faded at the sound of something outside. Francis peaked his head out the doorway, and recoiled in fear, running back to the group.

"It's huge! We have to get to the helicopter pad, but we're stuck inside!" Arthur let out a grunt and walked towards the doorway, looking out at the beast for himself. It was a huge, mutated being; rotten flesh, but incredibly strong muscles rippling under the thin, greyish skin. Somehow, despite his giant, almost animated-looking torso, he wore ripped grey jeans that covered his thin legs. The creature turned it's head up to the sky, a roar ripping from it's throat, a deep, disturbing sound that echoed around the tall city buildings. Arthur backed away slowly from the door, looking for another way out of the small room. "There's no other way out... We have to confront it," Francis said, grabbing a shotgun from the artillery closet, darting out into the open. Matthew raced after him, wielding his gun, though shaking quite violently. Gunshots rang out outside- another screech from the monster. Alfred looked over at Arthur, whose green eyes shone with alarm. The Brit steeled himself and streamed out the door, shooting the creature, who had Matthew almost pinned against a wall. It turned and looked at him, it's inhumane eyes devoid of any emotion, except bloodlust. The thing charged at him, and collided with him, despite the gunshots he fired at it. It sent him barreling into the wall, knocking the wind out of him.

"This damn thing is as durable as a tank!" he spluttered, still trying to regain his breath. Alfred had climbed to the top of the small shelter, wielding a large automatic machine gun. He fired off a round at the Tank- the name Arthur had given it- and lured it away from the Brit. Arthur scrambled to find where his gun had been cast off to, the darkness of the area making him nearly blind. The only light came from the helicopter pad about twenty yards away and the light of the guns as they left the barrel, a small spark of light that barely illuminated the wielders face. Francis and Matthew seemed to be doing pretty well for themselves; Matthew was standing on the helipad, firing at the Tank. Francis was doing the same, only from a building opposite of Alfred. Arthur felt the cold metal of his gun barrel and he picked it up, aiming blindly for the beast. He could hear the far-off sounds of a helicopter. _Just a little longer._ He felt in his pocket for some more ammo, only to find them empty. He muttered a curse and flicked open the gun barrel, feeling around for bullets. _Only one left. _He aimed the gun at the Tank, firing the shot. A pained screech rang out; but it didn't belong to the Tank.

"MY ARM!" Alfred cried, dropping his gun. Blood streamed down his upper arm like a river; he couldn't move it, and the pain was blinding. The Tank turned towards him, taking advantage of the opportunity. The monster used it's muscular arms to pull himself onto the roof where Alfred was doubled over, holding his useless arm. The beast grabbed Alfred in his hand, emitting another screech of pain from the man.

"NO!" Arthur headed for the artillery closet, hate for himself boiling in his gut. He took out an AK-47, grabbing a few packs of ammunition. He went out and aimed at the Tank, who was mauling Alfred, slamming him against the ground, bones breaking and bruises blooming across his tanned skin. Arthur held the trigger numbly, the beast screeching under the barrage of bullets. Matthew could feel the breeze from the helicopter blowing his hair every which way. He hopped off the helicopter pad, waving his arms madly for the helicopter to land. The Tank let out another fierce growl, which was followed by a pained shriek. Clearly, it couldn't take much more. It dropped Alfred, who was no longer screaming, but was passed out in a pool of his own blood. The Tank stumbled, slipping on the ledge of the building, and fell down into the streets hundreds of feet below. Arthur dashed over to Alfred, picking up the unconscious man and slinging him over his shoulder. The helicopter landed with a light thump, the blades rotating and blowing their hair back. Francis and Matthew hopped in, Arthur stumbling along with the weight of the full-grown man on his back. They finally made it to the helicopter, were Arthur hefted Alfred inside and laid him down on the bench, shaking him incessantly. "Wake up, Alfred! Come on, you're fine!" He felt tears pinching the back of his eyes when the American didn't stir, or even open his eyes. He was breathing, but only barely. "You can't die on me you bloody git! I will never forgive you if you leave me!" he cried. The helicopter lifted from the building, flying off into the desolate night. Alarms went off in the darkened city below, groans and screams filling the air. They had lived to fight another day.


End file.
